


The History on Our Skin

by StoneSabre



Series: So the Ocean Soothes Our Scars [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Weirdmageddon, Stangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 12:12:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8327359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoneSabre/pseuds/StoneSabre
Summary: Stan wonders why Ford conceals his skin so adamantly. The answer may be hard for him to swallow.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinesinthewoods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinesinthewoods/gifts).



> Wrote this for pinesinthewoods, an awesome member of the Gravity Falls community on Tumblr. Might turn this into a series (Big might, considering I need to actually learn how to make a goddamn commitment).

"Sixer, it's hot out here."

"It is..."

"And you're still wearing all those jackets."

"I know that, Stanley..."

"And you're sweating, a lot."

"Yeah, what about it?"

Stan breathed in, getting frustrated that Ford was too caught up working on deck to even look at him. Stan wanted to talk to him, but Ford was busy readjusting equipment and fidgeting with tangled up used fishing nets to be interested in any degree of conversation.

"Think you should take a break, sit down and have a cold drink."

"In a minute."

Stan took in a sharp agitated breath through his nose. He could see the slight stagger in Ford's step as he continued to work, and the slightest bit of worry grew in his pit.

"Alright fine, keep working, but if you pass out, I'm not scooping your ass off the deck. I'm going inside."

Stan entered the cabin to cool down and brush off some of his anger. He pulled off his tee shirt, leaving only his white tank top, and sat down with a cold water out of the cooler, wiping a bucket of sweat off his brow.

They were nearing a tropical coastline that was still a few days out. Prior to that day, the weather had been quite merciful as they sailed through the tropics. But as they approached the equator, the temperature drastically spiked. What's worse was that the ocean current was weak that day, so the breeze couldn't provide much relief. Stan knew he was going to have to take it easy, but his brother was predictably stubborn. There was nothing that could stop Ford when he decided there was work that needed to be done. " _All this work keeps me in shape_ " was always his excuse. Stan knew that old nerd was going to have to change his habits if he didn't want to die in the next ten years

A minute passed and Ford still didn't come inside. Stan groaned, deciding to take a second water bottle outside to give to Ford, more than willing to shove it down his throat if he refused it. When he returned to the deck he was greeted with the epitome of a man in shape; Ford curled up against the railing of the boat with his face buried in his hands, his skin beat red and drenched in sweat.

"Dammit, Sixer!" Stan shouted in a mix of worry and pissed-the-hell-off as he bolted to his brother's side and kneeled next to him. "I told you to sit your ass down!"

"What does it look like I'm doing now," Ford growled back, briefly pulled his face from his hands.

"Shut up. Drink this." Stan shoved the water bottle in his face. Ford greedily took a chug of it. "I could've told you that working yourself to death in a million degrees with nothing in your system but three cups of coffee was a bad idea."

"Stanley, I'm fine. Don't talk to me like I'm a child." Ford snapped, the aching heat cutting into his patience.

"I wouldn't need to act like this if you just took a break when I asked. You're skin all kinds of red and you're sweating waterfalls, Poindexter. I'm taking you inside before you have a heat stroke." Stan pulled him up and started to lead him to the cabin, but Ford couldn't even take half a step without stumbling over. He had to wrap his brother's arm around his shoulder and drag him back inside. He let him go when he reached the bunk room, and he didn't need any help getting Ford to sit down since he could barely even stand.

"I thought you were supposed to be the doctor, mister twelve PhD's."

"Please, you couldn't even pass as a nurse." Ford teased despite himself.

"Heh, guess a little heat isn't gonna get in the way of a lifetime of being a smart aleck. I'm gonna get a wet towel. I need you take off those jackets."

"I don't need to take off my cloths to cool off, Stanley."

It was precisely Stan's luck that Ford would make this situation as difficult as possible. There were many things Ford preferred to keep private, and one of those things was, understandably, his body. He never once changed cloths in front of his brother. Stan didn't care if Ford exposed himself to him, but he knew Ford kept himself covered for his own sake, and Stan usually respected that. But he had hoped Ford would be smart enough to know when he had to get over it.

"Look Sixer, you gotta help me out." Stan sighed as kneeled down to Ford's level. "You're not standing in front of the mirror crying that you gained two pounds like you're in high school. You're a man in your sixties who's gonna have a heat stroke if you don't _take... your cloths off... NOW._ "

Stan punctuated that last part by jabbing his muscled finger into Ford's chest, making him growl lightly in irritation. At first it seemed Ford was going to further resist Stanley's request, but with his assistance, he took off his sailor coat and his red sweater. Once he came down to only his black tee-shirt, he paused and looked at Stan innocently.

"The shirt comes off too."

Ford stiffened and was suddenly very defensive. "I'd rather not."

"Sixer, you gotta suck it up and work with me right now." Stan shot before attempting to grab the bottom of his shirt Ford's shirt.

"Wait." Ford grunted and pushed his brother's hand away.

"It's for your own good, poindexter." He tried to grab his shirt again.

"No!" Ford raised his voice as he rejected his brother's advances, but Stan held a much harsher grip this time. "Stanley, don't."

"I'm taking this off." Stan declared as he lifted the shirt.

"Stanley." He tried to pin the shirt to his chest with all of his effort, but Stan was much too strong to overpower in Ford's heat exhausted state. Stan pulled the shirt bottom over his brother's head, but Ford resisted with every last bit of his strength.

"Give me the damn shirt, Sixer!

"No!"

"Give it to me, now!"

"Stanley!"

"Dammit, poindexter!"

"Stanley, _**please!**_ "

Stanley suddenly felt himself stumbling backwards. Before he could regain his step, his back painfully collided with a clothing drawer. He could only faintly hear Ford crying out to him through the almost deafening crash, before slumping onto the floor in a disoriented heap.

"Ow, ugh... everything hurts." He groaned through gritted teeth, but once he realized he was holding Ford's shirt, he yelled out in triumph, "HA!"

His enthusiasm was immediately replaced with a thick, suffocating silence when he laid his eyes on Ford... and saw what he so desperately wanted to hide.

The entirety of Ford's upper body was a rigid display of nasty scars. Cuts, gashes, marks and burns of widely varying sizes ran across his torso, down his arms, and up to his neck.

Ford remorsefully watched his brother's gaze freeze upon him with horror. His eyes were wide and dilated, beads of sweat rolled down his face, and he was taking deep breaths in quick succession. He recognized that expression from all the times Stan would go through particularly traumatizing memory lapses. Somehow, he knew Stan was remembering the last time he had seen Ford shirtless... when they came up with the idea to take on each other's appearance just before he was forced to pull the trigger on Stan's mind in order to defeat Bill Cipher. He had always been scared this would happen, and he hoped he could protect Stan - and himself - from those memories and keep from opening up old wounds. Ford felt a heavy pit of shame build up in his stomach and a sudden urge to cover himself by crossing his arms over his chest.

"Stan, the towel." He grunted as he tried to look anywhere except at his brother.

Ford's voice managed to break through his bleak reverie, "wha..."

"You were going to get a wet towel."

"Shit!" He frantically sprang to his feet, remembering that Ford was well on his way to having a heat stroke, before charging into the bathroom, grabbing a drying towel and running it under a cold faucet. "You're gonna be alright, sixer," he said as he returned to the bunk room, wasting no time kneeling beside his brother and throwing the rag over his shoulders. Ford was able enough to wrap the the cloth around himself.

"Thank you, Stanley." Ford tried to show his gratitude, but he sounded so defeated. Stan knew the wet towel's cool sensation was only a small comfort in that moment. A long immeasurable silence held them in place, in each other's company, the encompassing whistle of the ocean waves seeming so distant now.

"Did all this..." he waved his hands over Ford's curled up figure. "Happen in that portal?"

The way Ford looked away from him as he wrapped the towel around him tighter told Stan he'd hit the nail on the head. God, his brother just looked so vulnerable in that moment, and the guilt was absolutely killing him.

"Stanford... I'm sorry." Stan choked out.

"Stanley, no." Ford asserted. In the way Stan uttered that one apology, he heard him silently recounting all of the negative things he ever thought about himself: how he was a screw-up, how he ruined everything, how it was always his fault. Ford couldn't bare it. "I built the portal"

"You did... and you had every intention of destroying it. Then I came and..." Stan trailed off as his heart froze over with a horrifying realization. "Oh god."

Ford was not only trapped in the portal, he endured suffering and torture in that hellscape. He could only imagine Ford, his nerdy brother he would always stand up for and protect when they were kids, bleeding, dying of hunger, and god knows what else could push him to every one of his physical and psychological limits, with no one to fend for him but himself.

That was his life for _three decades_. So many scars to show for it, and Ford was alone through all of it. He couldn't be there for him. His brother was suffering... _because_ of him.

His body was suddenly racked by a piercing sob. He buried his hand in his face, but he couldn't hold back the tears that were already flowing.

"You were trapped in there... for thirty years!"

Hearing Stan's voice cracking under the weight of his guilt, bore down heavily on Ford's heart. "Stanley..." he breathed wistfully as he leaned over and embraced his brother, resting his chin on his shoulder.

"I did this to you. I trapped you in there! I made you suffer!" He cried as he melted into his brother's touch, inching closer to uncontrolled wails. "Stanford, I'm sorry... I'm so sorry!"

Ford couldn't hold back his own tears, his brother's growing despair seeping into him and tearing into his own heart. But he couldn't help the slightest bit of laughter breaking through to the surface, for Stan's insurmountable compassion brought him great joy.

"Stanley, you don't have to apologize to me. You slaved away in that basement for thirty years just to get me back. What matters is that you cared, and after so many years you got me." Ford held onto his brother tighter. "I'm here now, with you... _because_ of you. You're my hero, Stanley. You don't have to apologize for that."

"If I'd known about the scars, I never would have... just now I kept imagining you dying of a heat stroke. If you died on my watch, Sixer, after everything that's happened, I... I don't know what I'd do with myself. I'd probably throw myself overboard."

"Don't be sorry for looking after me, Stanley." Ford backed away to hold his brother's gaze. "I know I don't always show it, but I'm thankful. I couldn't lift a finger to help you when dad threw you out. I didn't look for you. I only sent for you because I needed a favor. And yet, you've done so much for me. I don't deserve you, Stanley."

"Family isn't something you earn, Sixer. It's something you _need_." Stan asserted, now staring directly into Ford's eyes. "That's what I've been trying to get you to see all this time."

"I know, Stanley. I know that now."

Silence emerged between them again, but this one was less suffocating and more nourishing, like a warm blanket. The whistling of the ocean was somehow clearer and more poignant now, reminding them of the journey they'd set out on together. They needed this moment, to heal their reopened wounds, and sow their hearts back together after a lifetime of beating on their lonesome.

Ford spoke. "I'll stay inside for a while, if that's alright. I need to rest. Can you help me to my bunk?"

"Sure thing, bro."

Stan leaned over to offer Ford his shoulder, and used the leverage to lift his brother up and help him to his bed. Ford pulled himself to the top bunk, Stan giving him the extra push from behind. Ford realized Stan would be able to see the scars on his back, but he was too tired to care.

He used the last bit of his strength to roll onto his side so he could face Stan while he drifted off to sleep. Stan grabbed the wet towel still wrapped around his brother's shoulders and helped him spread it over his upper body to keep him cool. His bunk was just level with Stan's face as he stood at his side. Stan recognized his brother's need for comfort, and offered his hand. Ford gladly took it in his own.

"Gonna be alright, Sixer?" Stan muttered, the faintest bit of worry unable to leave him as he watched Ford in such a weak state.

Ford managed a smile that was just as confident as it had always been, though it put a strain on his body. "I will be," he whispered back.

Despite Ford's comforting words, Stan chose to remain beside his brother, still holding his hand in his own. It didn't take long for Ford's eyes to grow heavy with weariness, and slowly his eyelid closed, the darkness lulling him to peaceful slumber.

"You rest good now, you old nerd."

Had Ford still been awake, he might have heard Stan lightly chuckling to himself as he left the room and closed the door behind him...

* * *

 

**Epilogue**

Ford woke up several hours later, and to his great fortune, he felt much more rejuvenated and a lot less... hot and sweaty. He thought he should waste no time getting back on deck, but he knew he should at least take it easy for Stan's sake. When he stood up in the middle of the room, he noticed his shirt, sweater, and sailor coat folded up on the drawer. He put the shirt on, but when he reached for the sweater, he reconsidered. No use hiding his scars from Stan anymore, and he needed to keep himself cool. He decided against it and left the room.

When he came to the main room of the cabin, he saw Stan sitting at the table with the laptop. Stan noticed him immediately.

"Ah, there's the old nerd!" Stan hollered, glad to see Ford back on his feet. "Hey Sixer, come say hi to the kids."

"The kids are there!?" Ford exclaimed as he practically bolted into the view of the laptop. "Dipper! Mabel!"

"AAAHHHH!!! Grunkle Ford!" Mabel's image on the computer screamed, too excited to even give a proper greeting. It was endearing how a child could be so enthusiastic about merely seeing her family, but he was grateful for that, now more than ever.

"Great Uncle Ford, it's so good to see you!" Dipper greeted joyously, though he was much more reserved than his sister. His excitement then turned to concern. "Where were you just now? Is something wrong?

"No, no my boy, I just... had a little accident earlier and needed to rest," Ford hastily reassured, saying something that was just vague enough to not be a lie. "But I'm feeling much better already, especially now that I get to see you guys."

"Okay, well, I just want you to be careful out there." Dipper sighed. "You two are out on the ocean, far away from any civilization for sometimes months at a time. Sometimes I worry about you guys."

"Don't worry brobro," Mabel interjected, "our grunkles are just like us. They can get through anything as long as they're together."

"That's right, sweetheart!" Stan agreed with genuine passion. "Hey why don't you guys do some catching up for a minute. I have to go out on deck to do some navigating! Be right back."

Ford didn't notice Stan giving a wink to the screen before dashing out of the room.

"Soooo, Grunkle Ford. We noticed you're not wearing your sweater." Mabel noted. Ford gasped at the off-hand comment. He'd been so caught up in the excitement of seeing his great niece and nephew, he hadn't realized they probably noticed the scars on his arms that his tee-shirt left exposed.

"It's funny because Grunkle Stan was just telling us why you wear your sweater all the time." Dipper added.

"Did he, now." Ford bit his lip nervously.

"Yeah," Dipper continued while smiling, which Ford thought was odd. "But it's nothing to be ashamed of, Great Uncle Ford."

"I know that, it's just- Mabel why are you laughing?"

"What's on your skin is a part of who you are." Dipper stated, seemingly ignoring his sister. "You don't have to be embarrassed about it."

"I'm not embarrassed, I just- seriously, Mabel, what's so funny?"

"Come on, Mabel, don't laugh at the guy." He addressed his sister, suddenly grinning for some reason, "I mean, who doesn't want to be an all-star?

"All-star? What are you- **_NOOOOOO!!!!!_** "

The tattoo...

Stan saw the tattoo on his back!

And he told the kids about it!!!

Dipper erupted in a fit of giggles as Ford's face became the color of a tomato.

Mabel was practically bursting at the seams. "Ohmy _ **gaaawwd**_!!!! Grunkle Ford you have to show us!"

But the only thing they saw next was Ford bolting out of the room screaming "STAAAAANLEEEEEEYYYYYYY!!!!!!" before they both broke down into hysterical laughter.


End file.
